The Pleasures of Polaroids
by Boris the Belligerent
Summary: On their sixth year, Harry and Draco are in the brink of going mad. One, struggling to keep his godfather from Azkaban, the other, forced to marry someone of the wrong gender. Who would've thought that polaroids and a bit of magic could solve it all?
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Extreme sexual content[underage sex and homosexual intercourse included] and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

* * *

**Chapter I**

**Christmas Eve, 1996**

Grant Page was making circles around the Ravenclaw boys' dormitory for the past two hours; she'd been repeatedly making hoops around the wood stove muttering curses under her breath while she hammered her brain into thinking of a loophole for her current situation. It was Christmas Eve, six hours ago, she'd been inside the family's cabin out in the woods of their private estate. The day would've gone completely normal, hot chocolate with marshmallows, snowman, snowball fights, snow angels, decorating the tree, she and her sister had planned the whole afternoon entirely in good intentions until the bloody fuck came busting through the door in a silly Santa Clause outfit. That evening, it wasn't only their parents - her mother and step-father -fighting, she just had to be dragged in the nth word war. It wasn't particularly odd to see the Pages quarrel; they've had interesting rows worse than this. But Grant, the stupid fuck she is, roared out her guts in the wrong time.

And see where that landed her - no money, no support, nowhere else to go since the rest of her bloody family was either mad or non-existent.

"I'm so fucked." Jeremy Stretton watched his best mate squealing the same self-pitiful mourns all night. The girl needn't need to bother explaining herself, Remy knew, when he opened the door and saw the poor thing girding around the dorm, nails already dreadfully chopped by chattering teeth, what his overly-hardheaded Quidditch seeker had gotten herself into.

"Bloody right timing to run away. Bet your mother's already made a fortune selling Popsicle tears around London." Mrs. Page always had a clever way of expressing her sense of motherly loss to fountains of waterworks, anything to get her share of sympathy and understanding from the public was an accomplishment.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…." Grant broke from her pacing and blew a long, warm exhale on her hands, easing the twitching then continued on her treading and swearing. The only other time Remy saw her with a mouth full of it was in training or during a match, when Grant, while scanning the field for the Snitch, troubled herself with piles of homework and sleepless study nights, trying to think of an organized way to finish it all and still catch the golden pest all at once.

"You know you can get a job in Hogsmeade during the weekends. Madam Rosmerta's short in hands these days, she'd take anyone who's got the time and effort. Salary's bit off though. Buys you no more than few rounds of Butterbeer for a day's work. But look at the bright side, at least you get to shag the boss." Remy smirked.

"I can't work. I've got Quidditch and academics to worry about. That blasted woman's probably hunting my cheeky arse down already. Won't be long till she gets the thought that I'd be here." Grant said, finally giving mercy to the floor and taking a sit on his bed.

"But I don't think she'd be daft enough to come here and yank me off to a three-year death sentence of house arrest." Grant murmured, seemingly to herself. "No, she'd be too socially conscious to make a fuss… That gives me till… what? When's my birthday again? June? Six months. Six months. I've got to have my pockets full in six months. Six months." And Grant echoed those two words for the next half hour.

"I can lend you half my allowance—"

"Remy, shut the fuck up." Despite it sounding a bit too harsh coming from Grant's gruff voice, Remy rolled his eyes and gave a light smile. The girl was obviously being humble. They've got wealth under their names, yes, and money was such a pesky topic of unimportance that they rarely discuss it. But Remy had been aware of Grant's loathe of 'being used' meticulously. He knew how it could jelly up the girl's pride and glory by just the word of it and he'd always been careful not to violate the silent rule, unless necessary.

"Grant, you can always pay me back—"

"_No._"

"How else am I suppose to help when you don't even want my help?"

"The only reason why I can't leave my mother's roof is because part of the family's wealth, my inheritance being half of it, is still under her god-fucking name! Do you think that I'd be here, squirming away from her like a little pussy, if that wasn't my problem?" had she been a man, Remy would've found his insides shivering in terror, although it doesn't disregard the fact that Grant's eyes, a shade of ebony, had always made him cringe. The girl was a monster in the field to begin with, all thanks to Chang and her pathetic perspective in sexism. Remy had to laugh at that, the girl obviously hadn't overgrown her feelings towards Potter or else, she wouldn't have shamed herself in front of all self-respecting female Ravenclaws and accused Madam Hooch of unfair treatment for letting a male seeker play against a female seeker when it was _obvious _who'd catch the Snitch first. Roger Davis, the Ravenclaw captain, went furious and Remy had never been so glad to see a tearful Chang boot off the team. Grant was as good at seeking the Snitch as she was in keeping the Quaffle from the hoops. Madam Hooch, of course, had granted a rematch between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, also evidently glad to be rid of Chang.

"That hag can't touch my share without my signature under the contract. Now by the time I turn seventeen, I will own that pot of gold, she can shove lawyers up her arse, sue me if she wants, I will have it. All I need is to find a way to make a living for six months, enough galleons on my hands to support the rest of next term till I graduate, that's it. You can bloody well help me by thinking of a way to get my arse settled back in six months." Grant was on her feet but felt too much fatigue soaring down her veins to walk around. She stood before the window; trails of snow and cold air blurred the glass, and thought aimlessly if Mrs. Page had finished plotting her evil schemes by now. Her mother's false emotions and publicity obsessions were least of her worries, Grant poured her concern over her younger sister, Dominique was a smart girl and Grant would only expect their mother to taunt her into pulling Grant back. She knows how to manipulate. Nevertheless, she was only fourteen. The thought of her so young and being surrounded by those _people _fueled Grant's determination to over power her mother all the more.

"Can't you reconsider working?"

"She'd scare them off, corner anyone I'll work for. I wouldn't be surprise if she plans a threat on Dumbledore."

"Why would your mother threat the headmaster?"

"The school can provide for my needs if either of my parents is a risk to me. All they need is a trial order from the Wizengamot, three drops of Veritaserum and an honest remark from me and she's finished. That woman wouldn't hesitate to blackmail just to get around it, but I bet she wouldn't dare get her hands dirty in the open, maintaining appearances and all. Why do you bloody think she re-married that perverted arsehole of hers? If she has one of the Prophet's senior editors wrap around a nasty finger, she's practically invincible." Grant replied, slumping down one of the beds.

"Oi, I remember an ad from the PlayWizard. I think…" Remy went off from his bed and tapped his trunk with his wand, of which opened in response.

"They're scouting for new writers. Smart move really, their articles are so dull. I wouldn't recommend it if it not for the models. Here." Remy threw the magazine he'd found minutes ago from the very corner of his trunk to Grant's motionless form flopped on Michael Corner's unmade bed. It's no surprise that Remy would consider the idea. Grant had always believed that her passion for writing is what led the Sorting Hat to place her in _Ravenclaw_. It would've been perfect to write for a gay magazine, what with her perverted imagination and her talents with a quill, but Grant didn't bother to contemplate on the possibilities, she'd recall that ad but thought it useless. Even if she could write for a successful magazine anonymously, they'll still require her papers. For now, the last thing she needed was jeopardizing her identity.

But while she stared gloomily and unresponsively up the ceiling, the illuminated flames from the stove's fire entertaining her, Grant's thoughts lingered on the magazine still lay untouched on her stomach. She raised it to her face and watched the moving image of a man and a young, barely-aged boy sharing tongues, the boy held captive atop a school desk, his trousers nowhere to be found, the man, leaving no space between his rising cock and his student's spread open legs, his fingers playing with the boy's parts, his groin growing harder and dripping pre-cum from the forbidding feeling rushing his body – violating fresh, tight, virgin meat. Grant snorted, forcing herself to ignore the heated excitement throbbing between her legs, now's not a good time to wankville, and toss the arousing object back to Remy's bed, where, she reckoned, it had been innumerably soiled with the boy's juice.

"The twink looks like you." Grant noted with amusement. The boy, like Remy, was a petite, helpless, little thing with creamy skin, black hair as smooth as a girl's and eyes as brightly lit as the blue sky, the best similarity, however – and Remy could not resist to agree – was the lovely pleasure tool that exceeded beyond measurements.

"Yeah, but I think he's got a bit of pubic on his arse." Said Remy, his head dangling from the bed as he watched the repeating scene from the magazine.

"You sick fuck."

"Roger loves it. Gets him hard and ready every time. Says he wants to try shagging me in a classroom, the horny bastard. We did try it though, last night, in Binns' room, the bloke rammed me twice on the teacher's table and five times on five school desks, at least I think it was five… I lost count after I came the third time. You know how many times he made me swallow? Not that I was objecting but honestly! Four cumshots within an hour is more than enough! Told him he was getting soft on me, pumping like that faster than the bleeding clock. I'm not even trying and there he goes, filling me up like I'm an empty hole. Merlin, I simply don't know what to do with my cock when he leaves next term. You know, he asked my aunt if I could spend next year's holidays with him?" Remy raised his eyes and from his upside-down view, looked as if the only other person in the room had allowed him to chatter on without even showing interest.

"Grant? Grant, are you even listening?" Remy rose from his lying position and, with scrunched eyebrows, wonder what thoughts had risen from the girl's head that furthered the dullness in her pupils, causing her eyes to steady sleepily in one corner of the room.

"Oi! What's wrong with you? You look like Roger in desperate need of a blow job."

"Nothing. Sounds great, you and Roger." Mumbled Grant carelessly, crossing her arms under her head and proceeded on piercing the ceiling with blank concentration. "Just can't get my mind off of it. I keep seeing mother busting through the door holding chains and Azkaban jumpers, who can sleep at that? Now that I think about it, she can actually make the mansion as bad as Azkaban. Fucking hell mate, I'd find more comfort with Dementors than her."

"Don't you think you're being overly dramatic?" Grant shot a look of fright and shock as though Remy had confessed that he was a straight-up bloke and he'd been engaged in a secret affair with her mother. "Alright, alright, they're nutters all over and I completely agree with a life sentence in Azkaban than them but for fuck's sake Grant, you're moaning over some little thing that's obviously accessible everywhere. Anyone can make a quick knut out of anything, bloody hell, even fucking's an option."

Then, like after-shock from a lightening storm, Grant's head erupted with a river of thoughts. Images of the magazine flashed before her sight like passing memories, Remy's sexpedition with their Quidditch captain blurred her ears and everything just went rushing in her mind.

"Fucking…" Grant whispered, pulling her body to a straight sitting potion and, as earlier, occupied herself to the sudden interest of the word that had been a frequent appearance to her vocabulary. Remy amused himself with the magazine, knowing that whether or not he revealed concern to the girl's obscure actions, it would not be of any notice to her.

Remy almost sprinted from his mattress when Grant disappeared to their door, he was about to shout at her for a need of manners when a cry of a rough 'yes!' echoed from the ajar opening, of which, seconds later, revealed Grant with a grin that dominated her whole face, an old-fashioned camera clamped on her hands.

"Wank." She said, trying to fix the camera on its tripod.

"What?"

"C'mon, I want to see if it still works. Wank."

"The bloody hell I would." Remy spat, looking offended.

"For fuck's sake, mate, we take showers together. I've seen it more times than Roger."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah I did! But who's counting. Now get on with it."

"Why do I even need to jack off, can't I just smile, that's what cameras are for."

"I just need to try something. Please? You don't even have to get it up, just –play with it."

"_Play _with it?" he shot a look of scandalized disgust that didn't shame Grant for one bit. Grant rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand, a threatening gesture that made Remy unbutton his pants in defeat but never got the chance because Grant had already said the magic word and Remy's hands, instead of touching cloth, felt skin under his palms. Grant had vanished his trousers.

"Oi! Those are new!"

"I'll get you new ones, now ge— blimey love, have you been shaving?" Grant looked over the hairless portion between Remy's thighs in amazement. It was Remy's turn to make a clockwise with his eyes. Grant was never a person to be conscious around, dear Merlin, he'd laid naked with the girl almost every other night but it doesn't excuse the obvious fact that he's got a dick and she doesn't. Not that Remy found girls unattractive, he just couldn't find any pleasure being intimate with them. Grant had constantly teased that Remy might be more feminine that macho, given his preference as a bottom, and Remy, as much as he hated being compared to breasts and love caves, is slowly getting convinced.

"Not shave, I hear it only makes it thicker, aunt's private masseur gave me this potion he got from his shag mate who works for some rich manufacturer. It's called _Blem-Gem _and it rids off pubic hair for a whole month. It really works, look, you could actually see my hole from there."

Grant, the nerve of her, inspected the puckered hole closer, Remy feared that the girl might actually do the unthinkable, but before he could rescue his arse, she spoke, the boy having to suppress an irritated grunt from the tingling sensation her warm breath caused.

"Wowh. It's gotten wide. The last time I saw it, you can barely fit in a finger."

"Well, Roger's got a broom for a wand. Really, the boy's going to be the death of me. He even tried thrusting his whole hand in while inside me."

"Kinky bastard. 'Course, you can't blame him, bet he'd still have a virgin cock if it weren't for you – Oh Admit it, Remy. He was innocent as tea before you came along and you've completely tainted him, you little cock-tease."

"I object! If he hadn't walked in on my busy hour in the showers, I wouldn't have bothered! And besides, you're just jealous because Roger and I have something you haven't the speck of luck to have… Commitment."

"_Commitment_? Are you seriously kidding me? Commitment? Me? Bloody hell… Roger has gotten too far up your shithole for you to even think that I want something as dull-witted and bluntly made as _commitment_. Honestly, Remy. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you'd be like those old folks in muggle nursing homes, twittering about the _old days _and drooling over under-aged interns and the only proper wank you'll ever get is when they've got your wrinkled, dusty prick in one hand and forcing it to piss." Grant triumphantly laughed at Remy's utterly horrified face, giving a nice, hard spank on that unblemished arse that was sure to leave a tender mark.

"Tit. At least I'd still be getting some. And where will you be? Hm? Being miserable and taking Filch's non-existent career as Hogwarts' masochistic caretaker, having your way with ikle, little third years just to get a glimpse up their skirts, I bet." Grant chuckled, oh the boy is demented.

"Speaking from experience, Remy? I would've thought Filch to lack certain qualifications, like a human face and a soul, but given that little and, as you repeatedly say – _unintentional_ – incident with Hagrid, I wouldn't be surprise." The pillow would've sent the camera falling from its tripod if not for Grant's made-for-snitch-snatching hands. Grant had promised to not let him live through life without reminding him about Hagrid once in a while. Ever since that drunken night and that stupid dare, Remy could never again attend a Care of Magical Creatures class without blushing and shivering in fright each time his gaze drift down to Hagrid's trousers, knowing he'd unwillingly seen the horrors behind the zipper.

"Oi! Watch it! This is an authentic model, you prat!" Remy was given a victorious grin, the pillow flying back to his bed, barely missing his head.

"Oh, but surely you won't want to make Hagrid jealous. I imagine he's the sort to toughen things up. Might give you a good spanking –"

"Oh Merlin! Stop!"

"— Maybe even chain you for being a naughty, naughty boy –"

"La la la la la la la!"

"— Eating your whole prick until his whole hairy face's buried on your –"

"LA LA LA LA LA LA!"

"— Have that gigantic dog of his slobber up his human-sized cock until –"

"LLAAAAAAAAAA!" there was split-second flash of light and Remy, hands pressed firmly on his ears and eyes squeezed tightly shut that it started to hurt, gave it half a minute before assuring himself that the horrible wanker had had her fun, and peeked slightly. Grant was smiling like a winner, flapping what looked like a polaroid and, after taking a glance at it, burst on the floor with tear-gleaming laughter, holding her stomach as though her guts might spill out any moment.

Cringing from the ear-splitting horror that was Grant's guffaws, Remy jumped from the bed and grabbed the photograph as rudely as he can from Grant's shaking hand. A miniature, two-dimensional duplicate of his half-naked self appeared in multicolor, repeatedly mimicking his efforts in blocking the unwanted perspective Grant tormented him with earlier and had to chuckle a little.

"I look adorable!" he gushed and giggled when his carbon copy smiled shyly back at him.

"You look like a pixie with a dick." Grant said, pausing as though her words surprised her, then proceeded with another terrifying roar of titters.

::

"Alright. Out with it." Remy said after half an hour later. He was silently thankful when Grant had gotten bored with the polaroid and offered her undivided attention to her Muggle Studies essay, giving a few side-glances at the camera beside her once in a while, as though contemplating whether to use it or not, then focusing back on the half-written scroll.

Grant stared up from the edge of Remy's bed, quill nicked on her lips then gave the boy one full scan from head to toe, shrugged, stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Oh stop! You wanker! I meant about the bloody camera!" Remy scowled at seeing the sports bra beaming at him and was again grateful for having an extra nine inch wand and a flat chest.

Grant chuckled and deliberately left her blouse open. Remy rolled his eyes, as if she hadn't already murdered his chances for a hard-on.

"Well? The camera?"

"Oh c'mon, Remy, you can't honestly be that unimaginative."

"With your demented brain around, I prefer to be realistic."

"Spoilsport. No wonder Roger turns to magazines for inspiration. You've got no creativity."

"And you've got too much for your own good. Now spill it." Grant looked thoughtful all of a sudden, like weighting whether it was a good idea to say so. Getting back at her essay, she said carelessly, "I plan to make money with it."

"And how is that, exactly?"

"Oh I don't know, Remy, maybe the fact that I asked you to wank earlier might spark an idea on that dull head of yours." Remy gave it a thought, his eyes widening from the endless possibilities that bridged with that scenario.

"You plan to sell photos of me wanking?"

"Please, don't flatter yourself. Lovely and positively shaggable as you might look, I'd rather keep my rank as Ravenclaw seeker than have Roger Davis break my every bone with a bludger. I already have my mother to worry that with. But you're getting the idea."

"Well this is impossibly terrifying, don't tell me you're planning to sell photos of _you _wanking."

"What's terrifying about that? I look great wanking!" Grant said indignantly.

"Sorry to disappoint you, love, but not everyone is as full of themselves as you are."

"And Malfoy's an exception?"

"Of course he is! He's a gorgeous, filthy-rich, undeniably arrogant sex on legs! It's not as if you can compete with that."

"Precisely the point. Just think… five galleons for a picture of the Slytherin sex god, naked, wet, slippery and hard as a rock, pleasuring himself after a long day's practice in the boy's shower room. It'll rain millions! I tell you!"

As immensely encouraging and delicious as that view is, Remy still thought Draco Malfoy a conceited prat and the idea of him allowing to be exposed so boldy for a few gold coins that he obviously doesn't need is too near impossible. Then again, he is talking to Grant Page, a mental case far off the prospect of reality. As if echoing his thoughts, Grant sighed, looking offended,

"Yes, I know it sounds barking mad. That doesn't make it entirely impossible. I mean, of course he doesn't need the money and certainly not the attention, given the number of blokes he's feasting each hour of the day. I'm not going to waste my time with the sole expectation that he'll refuse me flat out."

"Then how _are _you going to do it?"

"Remy, Remy, Remy. I pity your lifeless bore of a mind. Draco Malfoy maybe sex on a stick, pun intended, but he's not the only cherry-topped, chocolate-covered gigolo in the vicinity. I mean _honestly, _we're in a castle in the middle of who knows where, without parental supervision, with _hundreds _of sex-starved, under-aged teenagers who've all got 'Horny and Hard' hanging down their trousers! Can you not see the glorious picture I'm painting?"

"It's a bit messy, really. I mean, yeah, sex seems to be a crucial prerogative for every sixteen-year-old but I don't see what that has got to do with Malfoy and a camera."

"For crying out loud! Remy! It's not _just _about Malfoy and a camera! Hormonal teenagers plus wanking plus camera equals lots and lots of bucket of galleons! If that doesn't hint your little imagination then I don't know what will!" Grant was now looking franticly annoyed, her Muggle Studies forgotten on the floor, her eyes pleading Remy for understanding.

"You want to sell photos of people wanking?" Remy said and for a moment, Grant was both relieved and a bit confused.

"Well, it doesn't sound as clever when you say it that way but yeah, that's about it."

"Forgive my being sensible here, Grant, but I don't think anyone would be dumb enough to wank for a photo, only to have those photos sold to perverted strangers and have you keep the money. And even if you did find someone that dumb, I doubt that they'll be the sort to wank off on." Remy expected Grant to see how completely and utterly stupid this idea was and that, from now on, she will no longer consult herself to such foolish nuttiness and listen to Remy more often. But this was Grant Page, a girl who'll probably walk stark-naked during the mid of December if the thought pleased her. And so Remy felt nervous when Grant gave a wicked smile that says 'I will make you do stupid things'.

"I'm not in Ravenclaw for nothing." She said.

Remy knew, just bloody knew, he was going to suffer.

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Reviews and criticism are encouraged.


	2. Chapter II

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Extreme sexual content[underage sex and homosexual intercourse included] and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

Bit of angst for this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter II**

**Welcoming Feast, 1997**

Things couldn't possibly get any worse, Harry thought gloomily as he paced back and forth on the deserted Quidditch pitch. His feet were cold and his shoes were soggy from the melting snow but he didn't care, glaring up the moon's crescent form as though it was the doer of all of Harry's dilemmas.

He felt so helpless. The thought of Sirius running again and being forced away from the safe confines of Grimmauld Place, his one and only refuge, troubled Harry even more. After three years of living as a fugitive, Sirius had done nothing but tend to that ungodly place, making it as livable as he can and, much to Sirius dislike, force a bearable truce with the house elf, Kreacher, under Dumbledore's and Remus' orders. Sirius had worked so hard to build up normality, trying to content himself with the little sanity he has left and just when things start to brighten up, Lestrange had to open her big mouth.

Of all the things that he can do - destroy a flat-faced psychopath, track down cold-blooded nut cases, save the bloody world from its own misery - Harry had to be useless to the one person who mattered. Merlin, he was so stupid! Of course Bellatrix Lestrange, the madwoman, would want revenge. Sirius was the whole reason why she, along with her Death Eater scums, was licking off the dusts of Azkaban just to feed herself. If it hadn't been for Sirius' wit to exploit Wormtail in his third year, giving them a lead straight to Voldemort's whereabouts and finally putting an end to all these chaos, Harry doubted he'd be here at all.

He owed Sirius everything and here was Harry, couldn't even testify for Sirius' innocence because those bloody Dementors couldn't stop themselves from giving Wormtail the kiss of his life. Oh, but his hatred to the little rat was nothing compared to his undying loathe after hearing Scrimgeour's decision. The twat, like all the other twats before him, said that it was too risky to consider a man who'd been repeatedly accused of conspiracies to be given a proper hearing, it wouldn't be fair for Voldemort's followers.

Harry snorted. How disgusting the Ministry is to even place Sirius' name and the word 'death eater' in one sentence. But then again, Harry had mistaken him for a murderer as well. All his friends have, even Remus. But Sirius had scoffed at their apologies, always saying that he'd long ago forgiven them. Harry doubted he could do the same now.

It had only been the first day back from the holidays. Harry could still taste the burnt bacon bits from Sirius' cooking earlier this morning, could still remember how amusing it was watching Sirius convince Kreacher to take the day off and leave him in charge of breakfast, could still recall how he'd refuse to listen to Sirius' storytelling about how he and Remus spent the night and how glorious it was to have a man of such talents. Nothing but smiles until the front page of the Daily Prophet punched him hard on the jaws.

_**Bellatrix Lestrange's Black Confession**_

_By __Barnabas Cuffe_

_In an attempt to bestow substantial proof to defend her innocence, known Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange shocked the Wizengamot after revealing knowledge of the possible whereabouts of one of Azkaban's notorious felons, Sirius Black, during her hearing last Friday, January the 3rd. After full deliberation and profound interrogation, the senior members of the high court concluded to agree the release of Ms. Lestrange and a five-year duration of house arrest provided that her information warrants the capture and conviction of Sirius Black. Ms. Lestrange confesses to the court that the true purpose of her support towards You-Know-Who was influenced by Sirius Black, of whom she shares blood relations with, and his dire obsession with the Dark Arts..._

Harry found his eyes falter at the words 'location', 'Grimmauld Place' and 'Sirius Black', his blood going cold as Lestrange's glaring image smirked at him. Before he could even begin his stuttering, the loud banging on the door had confirmed his fears. Kreacher had already opened it before Harry could move a muscle. A grim-looking Remus accompanied by a trembling Mr. Weasley – his complexion as pale as Malfoys go – churned Harry's insides. He'd yet to reach Sirius when Remus approached his lover and held him tightly, and the next Harry knew, he was staring blankly at the spot where they'd Apparated. Mr. Weasley took him to the Borrow, his mumblings of assurance went unheard along the way. Harry hadn't spoken a word the rest of the day, ignoring everyone else's concerned looks and empty words of comfort. Even Ginny's efforts didn't do its usual purpose.

Finally, after getting tired of Hermione's efforts to cheer him up, Harry snapped, telling the lot of them to fuck off and ran until he was lying on his back on the still snowy platform of the pitch, burying himself on the heavy layers of snow, knowing that Sirius was probably doing the same.

It was only when Hedwig arrived with a piece of parchment just an hour ago did Harry allowed himself to breathe. It was short but enough.

_Prongs,_

_Lost the fleas. Found doghouse._

_Snuffles_

Doghouse. He must've meant somewhere safe. Harry grumbled useless certainty, failing to calm himself. Sure enough, there was Sirius' paw print and a hole on each of the two corners of the letter that looked to be bitten by none other than canine teeth, confirming that it had been from Sirius and not falsely sent. He was fumbling his pockets for bits to write a response, cursing when he noticed he neither had a quill and swore even more when Hedwig hadn't the decency to wait for his reply, silently ignoring the fact that Sirius wasn't expecting a feedback. Harry swallowed the urge to run up his dormitory, scribble a note, threaten Hedwig with a week's starvation and spend the night in the Owlery until she came back with another parchment from Sirius. Hedwig would be cross and think Harry a no greater prat than Uncle Vernon, Harry wasn't going to let himself sink that low.

Instead, Harry dawdled about the pitch a bit longer, imagining a big, black dog making its appearance at any flick of his glance. He waited hopelessly until he could no longer ignore the pleas of his stomach and, with a defeated frown, went back up the castle, his hunger slowly dispersing from images of Sirius, cold and exhausted with the same need for food.

::

Harry was on his way to dinner when a shadow lingering by the castle's front gates startled him. Wand in hand, Harry approached the cloaked figure only to realise it was a dark-haired woman with an anxious face. Harry examined her bare arms and her movement from a good distance before approaching steadily.

"Excuse me?" Harry called and froze on the spot when the women gasped and turned to him with wide eyes. She looked too old to be a student and Harry couldn't familiarize her with any of the professors. "Er, are you lost?"

"No, no, dear boy. I—I need to see my daughter, it's rather urgent and these doors, they won't open for me." she said, her stern voice betraying her look of concern. Harry glanced around, as though expecting one of the teachers to appear. Hagrid's hut came to view but then Harry remembered that the Welcoming Feast was tonight and that Hagrid never failed to attend. Shit.

"Um… what's your daughter's name? Maybe I could find her and have her know you're here." replied Harry. He knew better than to let strangers into the castle. He was hardly convinced that the woman was telling the truth and Harry had enough experiences with Death Eaters to know when he's being fooled. If the gates won't open for her, she must meant trouble.

Something about what Harry said made the woman's posture rigid. Her shadowed eyes lost its softness and began to harden, reminding him too much of Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry curled his fingers under his cloak, going for his wand and prepared himself for the worst.

"Perhaps you should learn to respect the privacy of others, Mr. Potter, especially when such affairs does not concern you."

"What? How did you—"

"Or maybe you'd like a chat with my husband, Barnabas Cuffe, I believe he wrote a piece regarding that criminal, Sirius Black, in the papers this morning, I'm sure you've read it, as the rest of the Wizarding World has. Given that he'd left the bit about your relations with that murderer wins him a bit of gratitude from you, don't you think, Mr. Potter?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. For a moment, he felt his heart pause in shock. No, she can't mean what she said. How'd they know? How could they possibly know?

"Of course, it wouldn't do for the Saviour of the Wizarding World to have his name tainted with such a nasty _dog. _Too many expectations, Mr. Potter, too many to please."

"What the hell do you want?" his voice was strangled with composed anger. If he can't hex the woman, he'd have to think fast for a better attack. Harry won't be the cause of Sirius' arrest. He won't be responsible for anymore bad luck to come his way.

The woman neither flinched from his biting remark nor smirked with triumph as Malfoy so often did, nevertheless, Harry could see the glee dancing in her blue eyes. "Allow me entrance." she said, stepping aside, her eyes never leaving his.

Harry couldn't help but scowl at her direction, making sure she gets a full view of it. Again, the woman only stared at him, her lips remaining a straight line. He moved up the steps and, with only a second of reluctance, place his hand on the large knob and pushed it open.

"I'll kill you for this." Harry hissed at the intruder walking by his side.

"Pity, Mr. Potter. I would've thought our hero to have a better sense of rationalizing. Your godfather has already guaranteed himself a lifetime of imprisonment, adding up his crimes would only lessen his chances of survival." she said with an irritatingly calm voice. It took Harry all his mighty patience to keep his hands from his wand.

By the time they reach the Great Hall, the feast had already started. Harry's appetite for food became less demanding, leaving a hollow on his stomach that was soon filled with the desire to choke the woman and if Sirius' situation hadn't been so delicate, he would've devoured the need minutes ago.

The doors were wide open, echoing sounds of clattering spoons and forks and small talks. Harry, not bothering to care what the woman plans to do afterwards, walked straight to the far left corner where the Gryffindors all sat, the growing silence following him.

The moment he found and took his place between Ginny and Ron, the Hall was still. Several heads from every table were glancing repeatedly from the woman to Harry, apart from Ron and Hermione who kept their questioning eyes on their friend. He ignored them, his insides still burning with fury as he kept a hard glare on the woman.

Someone from the Ravenclaw table began muttering nervously then -

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Harry, including the rest of the student body, turned their heads and saw a boy – no, a girl rising from the crowd of Ravenclaws. Her seatmate, the boy who'd been muttering, was trying to pull her sleeve down, whispering cautiously but the girl took no notice of him.

"Oh but love, can't a mother wish her daughter a happy New Year? You've left so early a week ago." Harry detected the change on her voice, it sounded more pleasant, like when she first spoken to him. "Your sister—"

"YOU SHUT IT ABOUT HER!" the girl, of whom Harry had recognized as Ravenclaw's new seeker but had forgotten her name, walked the isle furiously. Harry then saw how easy it was to confuse her for a boy, the girl was wearing trousers, an alternative very few of the female population had considered, and her hair, long and black, was firmly tied in such a manner that she reminded him of Bill. Her chest wasn't as er... full as the other girls and took him a long adjustment of the eye to notice the slight bump. The stiffness of her walk was anything but lady-like, almost identical to how Ron walked. But what stood as her major boyish quality was her voice. It was too harsh and thick and almost made Neville's sound like a girl.

The woman remained unflustered, even allowing a soft smile. All eyes followed the Ravenclaw and a wave of gasps echoed when she clutched her mother's arm and dragged her out of the hall. They were about to turn a corner when the woman seized her arm from the girl and struck her with the back of her hand, earning an even louder stir of gasps. Harry, from the corner of his eye, saw the girl's seatmate stand but seemed hesitant to make a move.

Each occupant of the teachers' table mimicked his movement, but only Professor McGonagall had bothered to leave her seat. The woman, thinking that her abusive gesture went unnoticed, gave a nervous glance at their audience and began to chant apologies and sweet nothings to her madly shaken daughter, making sure it was loud enough for everyone's ears.

"Don't you touch me." sneered the girl with her remarkably manly voice, slapping away her mother's hands from her face. Professor McGonagall stopped at her tracks when the girl gave her a warning glance.

"But darling, it's not right to handle your mother that wa—"

"Stop it, mother. There's no one to fool here. You can strike me all you want, but no matter what you do, I'm not going anywhere with you."

The woman was now kneeling before her, her hands attempting to take hold of the girl but were persistently denied of any contact. "Sweetheart, please do listen. I know that I've upset you. I should've told you that Barney was spending the holidays with us and I'm so very sorry. But you must understand—"

"I do not give a flying fuck about that fat bastard." the girl's tone was menacing but surprisingly collected. Students from the far side of the isle were now leaning in closer to hear more. The girl bent down her mother as if to whisper and Harry found himself doing the same but regretted the next moment when the girl bellowed,

"SPREAD YOUR LEGS TO HIM ALL YOU WANT, MOTHER. I COULD ONLY IMAGINE HIS PRICK'S ABOUT THE ONLY THING ON HIM THAT ISN'T DISGUSTINGLY BLOATED." the woman's face crumbled with horror and even as the girl's back was facing him, Harry could see the corner of her face twitch a victorious smile. On the far end of the isle, the one boy standing began to laugh without an ounce of shame and Harry had to join in, disregarding the weird looks he was given.

The woman looked nearly about to burst with rage but the angered glint disappeared as soon as it came and she spoke even more softly than before, "Oh but dear, You mustn't speak of your stepfather so disrespectfully. After all, he's the one paying for all of your wedding's expenses." The girl's form went stiff.

"What?"

"Your wedding, dear. It's why I came here. I've already made arrangements with Narcissa Mal—"

"WHAT?" the woman was now standing and smiling as her daughter began to back away from her.

"Oh it would be so delightful! You and Draco –"

"YOU'RE MAKING ME MARRY MALFOY?" as soon as her words drummed the Hall, Harry snapped his head to the Slytherin table. Malfoy gulped as each and every pair of eyes pierced him. His face draining the little color it has by each passing second. Harry waited for an explosion of accusations and denial from the boy, expecting Malfoy to take his place beside the girl and roar as loud and as much as they can until the woman melt on the spot. But Malfoy only moved his hands to cover his face.

Harry focused his eyes back to the girl just in time to see her give a longing glance at Malfoy, apparently expecting similarly as Harry, but when Malfoy didn't answer her silent pleas, the Ravenclaw shook her head at the sight of her mother's soft, loving smile.

"Mother… What have you done?"

"It'll be lovely, darling! Dominique had already tried her dress, I can't wait for you to come home and try yours, you'll fall in love with it, I promise! Barney kept prating about the cost of the laces but it's worth it all, and I'm sure Draco will lov—"

"Stop it…"

"— We've already made the invitations, the Minister was even kind enough to drop by –"

"I SAID STOP. STOP! STOP! STOP!" and the woman did stop. Her smile growing nastier the longer it lingered on her beautiful face. The girl was trembling, her back against one of the large doors. She stared at the woman and Harry felt his throat dry when she began to chuckle.

"You're sick." She whispered, chuckling even more. "You're unbelievably sick." Without another word, the girl walked passed her mother, disappearing from view.

"Grant! Grant!" the boy who'd remained on his feet was now running to the entrance, making sure and obvious that he stumble the woman with a shoulder. She only smiled, smiled and smiled as she turned to the rest of the students. Saying goodbye and good wishes to Draco Malfoy, sparing a glance at Harry, and walked away.

The evening couldn't have gotten any worse, Harry thought again and wasn't at all relieved at the knowledge that he wasn't alone on the thought.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.


	3. Chapter III

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Extreme sexual content[underage sex and homosexual intercourse included] and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

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**Chapter III**

**Thursday, Jan 9, 1997**

Draco was walking by the corridors in a furious pace. He'd just left the Great Hall, leaving his breakfast untouched and cursed the idiots he called friends for abandoning him to suffer the mass of watching eyes that had stalked him since the psychotic madwoman had publicly announced his marriage, or better described as his capital punishment. He was just about to turn a left to the spiral stairs leading back to the Slytherin dormitory when a hand grabbed his robes from Binn's classroom and Draco knew, as he sneered at the second bane of his existence, that this wasn't his week.

"Malfoy, we need to talk." Grant leveled the intensity of her glare to Malfoy's scowl.

"I've got far better things to do than plan the guest list with you if that's what you're on about." He snarled, shoving off her hands from his robes.

"Well, I've got a third year tied up on my bed waiting for me to pop her cherry so you're not the only one who's busy here. Sit. This'll just be a quickie." Draco raised a brow and was only responded with an impatient grunt before he complied, seating a desk away from his captor in case she might sprint. Lesbian or not, Draco wasn't going to risk his heterosexual chastity.

"Let's get one thing straig— er, clear. Let's get one thing clear, I fancy birds, I like to nip their tits, I like to finger their fannies and I love to make them scream till they're dripping wet –

"And I fancy blokes, I like to suck their cocks, I like to rim their arse and I bloody fucking love it when they fuck me hard." Grant stared at him, obviously not expecting the sudden interruption. Draco smirked proudly, having known Blaise Zabini, Draco knew a foul mouth when he hears one and Page's no surprise. Draco always finds it entertaining to play Quidditch against Ravenclaw, Page's got a nastier attitude airborne and Draco, while searching for the Snitch, would sometimes muse himself over the absurd and foul things she heedlessly says.

"Right… So we agree to that then, neither of us wants to tie the knot."

"I'm in no need of a reminder, Page, your bint of a mother made sure of that."

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not enjoying this either. I know why you accepted the proposal, I know she used your father as bait to force you into this and I'll tell you now, if someone's to be ashamed of their family values in this room, it's me."

"Did she –"

"No, I have no part in this, otherwise she'll be in court by now. Bonkers as she is, she knows better than to trust me. That little show she put on the other night is nothing compared to what she's capable of. Believe me when I tell you, you don't want her sort for in-laws." Grant's voice had gone huskier and more terrifyingly serious that Draco forced himself to swallow the rude remark lingering on his tongue. He didn't want to challenge the girl's temper after witnessing the monstrosity of her tantrum just days ago.

"I admire my father, Page. While I understand the lengths of his crimes, I still believe him an honourable man and worth deserving another chance. Even if it means spending the rest of my days with the likes of you."

"Unlike you, Malfoy, I don't mind seeing my mother behind bars. In fact, it's my life's ambition to see her rot in Azkaban. Which leads us to the climax of this conversation where I shall present a solution to this predicament that will eventually succeed and ratify the saying that good triumphs over evil. Shall I continue?" she said matter-of-factly. Draco considered her for a moment.

"I'm listening."

"Good. It goes without saying that marriage is out the question, given your preference with dicks and the little interest we share, we can both agree that it's never going to work. Second, there's a huge possibility that I can ensure your father's freedom only if you keep this confidential. All I need for you to do is to sit back, relax, and cooperate. No asking questions and no backing out. It's a win-win, if you ask me."

"First of all, Page, I don't want to trust you and I don't see any logic on why I should. Second, I have no proof that your offer is concrete, for all I know, you're the mastermind of this whole mess and third, I won't consent myself to be completely vulnerable to a pervert." Page smiled a grim smile, and for the first time since he entered the room, Draco shuddered. She rose from her seat, a wicked glint on her eyes, and rested her hands against Draco's desk.

"Whether or not you can trust me, Malfoy, has nothing to do with it. As far as I'm concerned, I'm the only one whose offering an alternative. Either wait for the wedding bells to chime and spend the rest of your life as my mother's plaything –oh you know, she would – or do something about it, you never know, you might actually have a little fun out of it."

"What do you really want from me?"

"Like I said, Malfoy, cooperation. And money of course, but I prefer to earn that my own way."

"Cooperation to what?"

"You'll see." Page smirked.

"You're no better than she is."

"You know what, Malfoy? I think you're scared. What's wrong? Can't take a little risk? I tell you what, let's leave the decision on the Snitch. We've got a match this Saturday, if you catch the Snitch, you won't hear from me the rest of the term, but if _I_ win, like it or not, you will accept my terms." Page went for the door and paused, giving one last glance at Malfoy.

"Show me you're no wimp, Malfoy." And she was gone.

::

Harry couldn't study. He's been sitting in the library the whole afternoon, forcing his brain to apply itself on his Potions essay with no success. He hadn't heard from Sirius for two days and he was getting restless and about an inch from insanity. It was Hermione's idea that he occupy himself with school work to wear off the tension. Even practicing new DADA spells was no use, since it always reminded him of Remus which will eventually lead him to thoughts of Sirius.

Then there was that woman. Gods, how he hated her. He already told Ron and Hermione and both suggested that he approach Dumbledore straight away but the headmaster had been absent each time he visited. He sent two letters to Mr. Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt about the woman's threats but Hedwig was yet to return.

Harry sighed, frustrated, pushing his books and parchments away and rested his forehead against the cold platform of the table. To hell with it all. If Hedwig doesn't make an appearance in five seconds with at least one letter on her beak, he was going to get his bloody broom, fly to the Ministry and terrorize each and every Auror till—

"Hullo, Potter." Harry blinked and looked up. A boy – no, a girl. Oh no, it's her.

"Grant Page." Page thrust a hand and after an awkward shake from Harry, took a seat in front of him. "Harry Potter. So you're the idiot who let my mother in the castle." She said nonchalantly.

"Sorry?" said Harry confusedly, straightening up.

"_Quidditch Weekly_?" Page said, snatching the magazine from the piles of textbooks and flipping the pages with a lack of enthusiasm. "Used to like this, till they stop endorsing female players. They keep printing new models of brooms with half-naked blokes, honestly, the only tossers who'll enjoy looking at hairless chests and six-packed abs are them pillow bitters. You're not a closeted bloke, are you Potter?" Page directed her eyes to a speechless Harry then threw the mag back to the chaotic mound of parchments.

"I'll cut to the chase then. What did the hag tell you?"

"What?"

"My mother, you know, black hair, blue eyes, a bit nutty. What'd she say?" Harry stared at her, slightly taken back by the girl's boldness and couldn't find the sense to respond back. This wasn't the first time Harry was questioned about that night. He had to cast a Silencing Charm around his bed just to block Seamus' voice and his nonstop questions, had to skip dinner yesterday to rid off that boy – Jeremy Stretton was it? – from interrogating him, even Ginny got caught up with the gossip, taunting Harry about him confiding to Ron and Hermione but never telling her things. Their row ended with Harry storming off on her and Ginny constantly avoiding him at every encounter. Not that Harry minded. Better an angry, tight-lipped Ginny than a babbling one.

"Nothing." Harry finally said, somewhat snappishly.

"Why'd you let her in?" Page looked at him with a bored expression, her chin resting on her palm and didn't seem to care about Harry's altering mood.

"She was a parent." He said lazily, keeping his eyes aloof.

"But you didn't know that before you let her in, did you?" replied the girl, raising her eyebrows as though challenging him to answer.

"Er…"

"She threatened you, didn't she?" Page said with a commanding tone, her hawk-like eyes narrowing suspiciously. Harry was sorely reminded of Snape.

"Uh…"

"You're too easy, Potter." Then she smiled a smile so similar to the woman's that all the woman's threats came bubbling back to Harry. He suddenly felt a surge of hatred against Page.

"Must feel awful having to live under one roof with Malfoy the rest of your life, having to look at his ferret face morning till night. I'd ready anti-nightmare potions if I were you." Harry jeered with more confidence, sending an awful scowl at her that he usually reserve for Malfoy. Page's smile only grew wider.

"Oh, you don't have to go all jealous on me, Potter. I'll make sure you and my husband-to-be will have an equal amount of time with each other." Harry's eyes widened a bit. That didn't sound right, not the way he thought of it. The evident look on his face made Page smirk. "Now save your sarcasm, I'm not here to fight, you've already got Malfoy to fill that seat. No, I'd like to talk business."

"Business?" _what could she possibly want from me?_ Harry pondered, feeling a bit put out.

"That's right, Potter. I'm a bit short in finances, as you can imagine. So, I've decided to start a business and I think you're the perfect man for the job."

"What sort of business? And what makes you think I'm at all interested?" said Harry, crossing his arms as if the gesture would emphasize his words.

"Potter, unless you want Mr. Black's name tangled with yours on the paper, I don't think you've much of any choice." For a moment, Harry thought he was looking at the woman again.

"What did you say?" Harry murmured weakly. His lungs seemed unable to function suddenly.

"That's what she threatened you with." Said Page, pulling out a thin heap of paper from under the table. Harry needn't need to look closer to recognize the large bold headlines and the image of a sniggering Lestrange on the front page. He kept his eyes, cold and savage, to the girl. Page only responded with a blank stare.

Harry couldn't take it. He lost control. The next thing he knew, he was clutching Page's collar with a shaking grip, their nose just barely an inch apart.

"How the fuck did you know about Sirius?" he snarled through locked jaws. His glasses impending on the girl's face and looked about ready to crack.

"Hands off, Potter, you don't want to fight me. Especially when you're dealing with my mother." something jabbed his chest that felt like a tip of a wand. Looking hard on the glare burning Page's pupils, he knew she wouldn't hesitate. With a weapon pointed at him, Harry saw his chances narrow and roughly released the girl.

Page, after fixing her blouse whilst holding a warning look at the now seated Harry, opened her mouth to speak but Harry beat her to it. "I'm not discussing anything until I know how you knew about Sirius Black." He said and for safety measures, silently grabbed his wand from his bag and maintained a steady aim on Page from beneath the table, grimacing at his clumsiness when the tip accidentally nudged the girl's knee.

"Potter, if you want me to talk, at least grow the balls to be civil." she said, peeping down the table. "And keep your tool, I'm not interested." She added with a sly smile, waving off his wand from the vicinity of her legs. Harry blushed.

"You know who this is?" Page asked, pointing the finger on the newspaper between them. Harry squinted his eyes at the tiny print.

"Barnabas Cuffe? Yeah, I think your mum mentioned him." he said bitterly.

"She calls him Barney. He's one of the oldest editors of the Prophet. You'd rarely see his name on the paper. He only writes about one to two articles a year and he makes sure that the read is worth enough galleons to fill one Gringotts vault. That's millions, mind you." Harry's brows slightly jumped, his own vault was big enough to fit the whole Dursley's house. The idea that a man could earn that much from a few paragraphs vaguely impressed Harry.

"Cuffe is one of the richest man alive. With money by his side, it's no effort to get any woman he wants. Like the gold digger she is, mother crawled to his feet like a starving dog. And like the dim-witted trout that he is, Cuffe made her his evil little queen. Do you see where I'm going, Potter?"

"You mean to tell me she learned about Sirius through him?"

"She always gets her way through him. What's more disgusting is he doesn't complain."

"Wait. How did he know? Cuffe, how did he find out about me being related to Sirius?"

"Just think, Potter. Reporters aren't allowed in hearings, it's against Ministry regulations. How'd you think Cuffe got his hands on this story?" Page said, gesturing to the newspaper. "Only a man with a cheque worth a whole country's wealth could pay his way through the Wizengamot."

"That still doesn't explain how he knew about me."

"Potter, anyone who can buy the Ministry has got enough galleons on his pockets to hire whomever for a dig up."

"If you're hinting Aurors –"

"No, idiot. He's not that thick to involve the Ministry with his dirty work. Don't you think you'd be interrogated by now if he'd hired someone from the inside? Listen, Potter, if this article had been written under a different name, the Ministry won't hesitate to demand a rewrite, and not just that, they could even go as far as to warrant an arrest on that reporter for infringement. The Ministry hates Cuffe. The only thing that's keeping him from tumbling down that hill is the buckets of gold in the well." A long silence fell upon the table, Harry was suddenly exhausted, he was having difficulty absorbing everything Page said. Was that why it took so long for Mr. Weasley and Shacklebot to respond to his letters? What if Cuffe decided to publicize his relations to Sirius? Would the Ministry interrogate him as Page had said? Will they use him to bait Sirius? The thoughts made Harry's head sore and his anxiety instantly reached an alarming level. What if they did? What if they make him write to Sirius, then follow Hedwig? What if they did catch him? Bellatrix Lestrange will be set free and –

"Potter? You look like you're about to barf. You alright?" the sound of another voice broke Harry's brooding.

"If the Ministry finds out –"

"Relax, Potter. It's not going to happen." Said Page, a hint of confidence in her tone.

"What? But you just told me –"

"Potter, as much as I loath my stepfather, he's not as heartless as he looks. If that were the case, he wouldn't have kept your involvement from the article. I mean, you did destroy the one lunatic crazier than my mother."

"It's too bad he couldn't keep it to himself. Does he tell that bint everything?" Page laughed.

"No. I bet she snooped around his study again." she said in an amused tone.

"Wait a minute. How did _you _know this?"

"I know people." She simply said.

"Enlighten me." Page shrugged and replied, "Rita." As though the one word was enough explanation.

"Rita?" the name sounded familiar to Harry. He recalled a time when he chanted the name with swears and curses in front of Ron and Hermione. But he couldn't entirely place it.

"Rita Skeeter. My step dad's assistant – and mistress." She answered indifferently. Harry gave her a startled gaze.

"No bloody way, that Skeeter woman?"

"You know her?"

"How could I not? She wrote an article saying that I was ga— er… about me two years ago." Harry said, staggering over his words. Oh, he knew Rita Skeeter all right. That nosy tart had nearly ruined his fourth year.

"Really? I don't remember her writing anything about you."

"That's because it wasn't published. Too… er— inappropriate." He muttered.

"Ha, Rita always had naughty fingers. What'd she say about you?" Page was now leaning forward with interest and Harry made a grab for the closest book and opened it randomly, trying to hide his flushed face. That incident was never a comfortable topic for him.

"Nothing. Stupid really, she thought me and Malfoy were— Er. Nothing, she wrote lies. Forget about it." fingers grasped his Potions book and before Harry could protest, Page turned the book upside-down, only did Harry realized that he was reading it the wrong side up.

"What about Malfoy?" Page said, looking more intrigued.

"I said it's nothing. Leave it." he said and was glad to hear his voice convincingly crossed.

"Alright, fine." Page slumped on her chair, crossing her arms and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "I'll just ask her." then he paled.

"You wouldn't." he was given no response, Page just looked and looked at him, and for a moment, Harry felt that same bile of uneasiness journey up his throat every time Snape gave him a disapproving glare after evaluating his failed potion.

"She said that I was – was gay." Harry said finally with a defeated tone. Page continued her staring and when he was about to repeat himself,

"Aren't you?" Harry gave her an eyeful of shock. "No!" he bellowed, earning a condemning hush from Ms. Pince.

Harry was busy whispering apologies to the other occupants when he heard Page mutter "That'll change." Under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. And how does this concern Malfoy?" She said briskly. Harry's face went red.

"I don't know." He replied, distracting himself by tidying up his scattered things.

"I'll ask him then." she said casually and Harry was given another warning shh's after placing the book a bit too hard on the table.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in Malfoy?" he blurted out.

"Hey Potter, I'm not the one jumping him every now and again. Just making small talk. Malfoy seems to be the only topic that gets you up." Said Page, raising her hands defensively at the sight of Harry's glower.

"I'm not gay! and Malfoy's a prat!" he hissed, shoving his school things in his bag.

"Never said you were, never said he isn't." Page murmured, unflustered by Harry's temper. Harry gave her one long look but the Ravenclaw only continued to stare down her nails in the most un-girlish way.

"I'm going."

"No you're not, Potter. We're not done talking."

"I think we are." Harry said and stalked to the shelves, not giving her a chance to answer but Page caught before he could reach the exit, slamming him against the ledge of books with a bit of force.

"No. We are not. I seem to recall us discussing my business."

"I don't want to be a part of it."

"Look, Potter, Cuffe may not be a threat to you any longer but my mother still is. You know why? Because she's got the copy of Black's documents, all she needs to do now is give it to anyone who matters and your secret's out. I'm going through hell and back just to get your arse clean and, no, I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for me because that's how much I want to destroy her. But I'd appreciate it if you return the gesture." She said with greeted teeth and a tone that convinced Harry that she meant every word.

"How do I know if I could trust you?"

"For one thing, Potter, my mother is one cold-hearted bitch. Second, if you've yet to notice, I HATE her and third, she's this close to ruining my life." Page said, indicating her point with her hand. Harry considered the little options he has and sighed. If she's the only way to keep Sirius out of trouble, he wasn't going to argue.

"Fine. What's it about?" with that, Page gave a rather manic smile.

"You'll just have to see, Potter. See me after the game on Saturday, seventh floor, eight o'clock." She gave Harry a pat on the face and left. Harry felt a sinking feeling he was going to regret something very soon.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.

Cheers to all those who bothered to read and review.


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